Serving and Loving at Falco's Children's Village

This is the post. The real post I've been procrastinating for 7 months. When I left Africa I felt this heavy burden, knowing I would write about it, but also knowing my words could never do it justice. I felt heavy... and stifled by the fear of  failure. This experience had changed me. These children's faces were imprinted on my heart. But how does English text convey that?

 I feel doomed from the start, but here it goes...

Every morning started with breakfast in the tent and a little devotional/inspirational talk by Olivia or Brighton. Then Ryan would go over what was needed for the day. For example..

-There was a path that went around the entire property that was rough and full of rocks. They needed that cleared and smoothed down so that the kids could run without those obstacles.

-They REALLY hoped we could help them clear a soccer field. Besides the houses and playground, the surrounding area was densely congested with bushes and prickly trees. Soccer is their favorite sport and they wanted to be able to host other villages there for soccer games.

-They had a field of maize that needed to be harvested. 

-The group decided that to make a lasting effect, they wanted to compile biographies about each child. The idea was that with that information, Jerry could present their cases as he campaigned for donations and give people a more concrete idea of how and who they were helping. They also hoped to eventually get those biographies on their website. The orphanage had rough notes on each child, written in a combination of languages, so with the help of some of the staff, those notes were expanded upon and made into a more official document.

-Tammy and Jerry had promised the village a schoolhouse in exchange for the land, so that was in the works, about a mile down the road. Any help building that was needed. 

-We were asked to come with a lesson plan to teach the children. Any skill was worthwhile. Numbers, letters, shapes, math, vocabulary, etc. 

-There were always opportunities to serve with the regular chores around the orphanage. Doing laundry, sorting beans, folding clothes, making the toddlers porridge in the morning and afternoon, etc. 

-Just playing with the kids was huge. They emphasized how little personal care each child gets because of the small ration of mama's to children. So just playing with them on the playground, reading books or engaging them in activities was important.

For some jobs, Ryan would announce they needed 10 volunteers for "blank" task and take the first 10 that raised their hands. Otherwise, we could just pick what we wanted to help with and go for it. 

I wasn't sure how to organize everything, so these pictures aren't in chronological order. Just sort of how they ended up when I downloaded them.

On the other side of the parking area, there was a crude volleyball court. A couple of different times, we got a big game going with the volunteers and children. AND the mama's and staff. They were as excited about us being there as the kids were. Everyone played their hardest and lots of laughter was heard. I smiled watching them trash talk each other and victory dance after scoring. Something that impressed me was when a volunteer touched the net. Tammy immediately brought it to their attention that there was to be NO touching of the net. She had to remind us that if it got torn or ruined, they couldn't just go out to the store to buy another one. Everything at this orphanage is prized and well cared for. They know they are fortunate to have something so luxurious as a volleyball net. 

I was told that Saturdays and Sundays were hair braiding days. I was all over that! When the day came,  I peeked into one of the houses seeing a couple of mama's at it and several girls waiting their turn and asked if I could help. They welcomed me in and tried to show me the ropes. I watched intently without blinking yet I could not begin to imitate what I was seeing! I swear they started with just wisps of a few strands. Their fingers seemed to move effortlessly, but my brain just couldn't follow. It was like watching magic. Since we couldn't communicate very well, I just smiled and nodded, then gave it my best shot. What a mess! I felt like a disgrace. I finally gave up and just switched to regular ol' French braiding. It took me a VERY long time and Lightness (the name of the girl I was working on) was so patient. About half-way through, one of the mama's glanced over and made an happy exclamation that sounded positive. I don't know if they were actually impressed or just surprised that this white girl could manage some sort of braid, haha! At any rate, I decided to not torture any more girls and leave the hair business to the professionals. 

As a little background information, Lightness has a sister named Happiness. They were going to be sold as young girls for a bag of sugar, but were instead rescued and taken here. I love their names and think they represent their personalities well. 

I think I gained a reputation as the Bubble Girl! I brought several containers with me and would usually pull them out in the afternoon when the kids had their designated play time. They.went.nuts. over them! Kids usually love bubbles anyway, but this seemed to be especially exciting. They shrieked and jumped and never tired of them. I got a little winded with all that blowing! I finally discovered the beauty of using large arm sweeps and wind. ;)  

The first time I brought them out, I noticed in my peripheral, a little boy who seemed to be getting the MOST joy out of them of anyone. He would happily shriek and grab at them, making growling noises as he tried to eat them! His whole body seemed to shudder with excitement. My subconscious wondered why he wasn't moving from his spot on the merry go round. Then realization sunk in as I looked closer. 

His legs didn't work. 

I found out his name was Barakas. 

This is his story. 

When he was born, with his deformed legs and unknown diagnosis that prevented proper development, his real father didn't want him, so he left. His mother (astonishingly) cared for him instead of getting rid of him too. She ended up remarrying. Tammy said that for another African man to take on a handicapped child that wasn't his own was unheard of. Then tragedy struck again when Barakas mother died. That left him with his step-father. Another miracle that the step-father didn't finally abandon him at this point. Instead, knowing he couldn't care for Barakas on his own, he went to Tammy and Jerry and begged for them to take him and in return, he'd work for them at the orphanage and be there for Barakas as much as possible. The first time I saw Barakas father from a distance, I didn't know who he was and I immediately judged him by appearance and knew I'd be terrified if I came across him in a dark alley.  I happened to be holding Barakas at the same time when he saw his step-father coming. He wiggled from my arms and clumsily made a mad dash for him, his face lighting up in the process. My. Heart. I was ashamed of how I had snap judged this man who looked frightening on the outside, but obviously had a kind and loving heart. I was so glad to know he had family that cared for him, but in my deepest longing, I left Falco's Children's Village wanting to adopt Barakas. And despite learning that some family members thought that was the secret reason for my trip to Africa in the first place, it really wasn't. But the fact remains that I can't even write this without aching for him. He had a radiant spirit.. He couldn't talk and his body involuntarily twitched and jerked, but inside, he glowed. I can't describe it, but my eyes are wet thinking of him. He is one of the purest human beings I have ever come across in this life. 

After I finished with the bubbles that day, I picked him up and we played on that playground until dinner. It was no easy task lifting him up the slide or carrying him everywhere, but my tired body didn't mind. His laughter and joyful expressions were fuel. I found myself looking forward to seeing him more than anyone else. I physically carried him around, but he lifted my spirits every day. It's painful to think of what he could do if he were in the states and had proper medical treatment. Even just crutches or braces to help him walk. 

One of my FAVORITE moments of the whole week was the day I was pushing Barakas on the merry go round. I collapsed after a while next to him and gathered him up in my arms for a hug, not able to contain my love for him. I emphatically told him, 'Oh I LOVE you, Barakas!" I didn't expect him to understand me and certainly not to respond (I had never heard him speak), and yet he immediately replied "I love you too." I was stunned into silence for a few seconds before wrapping him up in an even tighter hug. That was the only time I ever heard him talk while I was there. The best gift anyone could have given me. 

This little darling was another child who couldn't walk. She was found a few months ago, abandoned on the side of the road and brought here. We were told that she was in pretty bad shape back then, but has since blossomed. They are even hopeful she might walk someday despite her club feet. Emellie cracked us up because she was quite possessive! Once she had you, she did NOT want to let go. I had to leave her to go to the bathroom and she sobbed and sobbed until I came back. She LOVED attention and giggled non-stop on the swings. 

So sweet seeing even the younger volunteers help with the babies. 

When I was preparing my lessons and buying a few things for the trip, I saw these little toy cars for $4.44. I knew they were meant to come with me! The kids loved them.

We only spent one Sunday there and it was one for the books, for sure. We were told that they only kill a goat on Christmas and maybe for one other special occasion. Well, they were going to do it for us! We were allowed to come watch if we wanted. Sounds morbid, but for whatever reason, I chalked it up to the "experience" and went. We woke up super early and made our way across the property, to the cattle stalls. The shepherd sleeps with the sheep. He was in charge of picking one out. Broke my heart to see them all running from him and bleating. It turned into a fairly long process. They tied him up, said a prayer over him, then slit his throat. He struggled until they got him on the ground, then he seemed to have accepted his fate. The knife didn't seem to be very sharp and I had to look away. Poor goat!! After that, it was kind of amazing to watch them expertly cut all the skin off, then carve into the abdomen to release the stomach and organs. They saved everything. Not being a farm girl, it was an interesting reminder that all the meat I eat comes from a similar way. I appreciated the way they showed solemn gratitude for the goat's sacrifice. 

And no, the goat I am cuddling is not the one we ate! ;)

Later that morning we were able to participate in their church services. I'm not sure that they identify with a specific sect, but fall under the umbrella of Christianity. When I walked in, one of the mamas was at the microphone singing and all the kids were clapping and moving along to the beat. It had a gospel-like feel to it. Tammy took the microphone at one point to try and explain that this might not be how we worship, but that they love to worship through dance and song. At the beginning, I'll admit I was a little hesitant. But it didn't take long before I felt swept up in it. Their voices were beautiful and it really did feel like worshiping. I found myself clapping and swaying and humming along. I loved the energy and happiness the kids exuded. I was also amazed to watch this large group of children BEHAVE so well for such a long period of time! The littlest ones were a bit fidgety, but overall they blew me away! No snacks or toys to play with. They just knew the routine and cooperatively sang and stayed in their place.  

How about that drum playing?!!! You know they've had no training. No lessons. And yet, you can tell they just FEEL the beat. The talent! I loved it! 

The sweet boy in this video is also named Barakas. I LOVE how he smiles when he sees me watching him! He is very similar to the other Barakas in his pure and untarnished spirit. We all could tell he seemed a bit developmentally delayed, but weren't sure what sort of diagnosis he would qualify for. He was another favorite of mine. ALWAYS smiling. He had so much love to give and was known as the "hugger". Anytime he saw you, he'd run up to give you a long hug. I think physical touch is his love language. Just the sweetest of sweet boys. He seemed to be a bit older but saw through the eyes of an unblemished child. It was not hard at all to fall in love with him. 

Our group also took turns singing songs for them. We sang Gethsemane, I Am a Child of God, A Child's Prayer and I Stand All Amazed. A few people with better voices sang solos. We went back and forth like that, sharing songs, then Jerry said a few things, offered a prayer and it was over. I felt privileged to be there. 

Once a month they celebrate all the birthdays so this Sunday was that time. Tammy tried really hard to make it a fun party for everyone. They had the goat roasting for the meal and the cook had been up all night baking cakes. 

Many of the kids don't know their actual birthday, so they are just assigned one. I didn't tell anyone it was my birthday that week, but enjoyed feeling a part of it anyway. 

After we sang, all the kids went outside the tent to wait for their piece of cake. This is the only treat they get every month. And here is the part I will NEVER forget. Picture 80 kids all waiting for a slice of cake that is a variety of flavors and kinds. How much chaos do you think would ensue? Can you just hear your own kids complaining about their piece or whining that they wanted one with icing or there's wasn't as big as the kids' next to them? Yeah, I can definitely hear MY kids saying that! Well not ONCE did I hear a complaint. They sat patiently and happily accepted WHATEVER was handed them. And I took note! Some kids got a big, fat slice and some kids got a tiny, end piece. Some were purplish colored and others were white. Some had icing others had a chocolate coating. But no one looked to their left to scope out what their friend was eating. No one looked disappointed or handed theirs back. No one cried or threw a tantrum. I was stupefied. I will never forget the gratitude I witnessed in such a simple event as handing out pieces of cake. Entitlement was not a word in Africa. 

Time for some games! I participated in a balloon relay race and love that this video caught Aaron accidentally breaking one of the chairs! Ha! Now if only I didn't have to feel bad about laughing because losing a chair reminded me of the volleyball net lesson. 

That evening we were invited to go watch a soccer game a mile or two away. It was Falco's Children's Home vs. The Village. A big event! I'm not sure why, but a lucky few of us got to ride the cattle drawn trailer over! 

Some of the scenes we passed along the way....

This became one of those surreal moments. 

I kept thinking... I'm IN AFRICA, riding a cart, passing grass huts, to watch a soccer game in a village. Whatttt???! Who's life is this?!

The soccer field was just that... a big, dirt field. I was surprised that the teams had jersey's though. For as poor as they are, I think soccer is a BIG deal.

I'm not sure how it started, but instead of watching the game, I realized that a few of the girls shared my affinity for dancing. :) So DANCE we did! I played music from my phone and we got DOWN! Luckily I had put capris on under my dress! Can I just tell you how much FUN this was?!!! I really can't describe it. But my soul was soaring. These girls had MOVES! They were meant for dancing. And yet, I realized at one point, that they were just copying me, lol! It was like my own little posse of backup dancers. We all had perma smiles on. I swear we danced for over an hour without stopping. At one point I realized I was so thirsty and feeling a little dizzy (hadn't eaten much), but how could I stop?! Near the end, one of the mama's brought out her phone and the girls taught us a few moves to their own songs! There were so many moments on this trip were hard to beat, but this evening went down as the quintessential FAVORITE. I think I could live off those feelings forever. Our language barrier prevented a lot of communication, but when it came to dancing... well that was universal! 

Once we were all tuckered out, Sabrina and some girls discovered I had pictures of my family and life on my phone. They.were.mesmerized. 

When something confused them they would point at it and look at me and I'd try to explain what it was. I felt a little guilty at times. They were looking at pictures of my house.. my kids swimming... all the luxuries we never think twice about. I had to wonder what was going through their minds. 

And yet as we were walking the long, dusty road back to the orphanage I asked Neema what brought her joy. She responded that being given so much brought her joy. And being able to go to school. Again, I couldn't help but compare these answers to what I would have said at this age. Or my own children. These kids truly had their priorities straight. 

I don't have any pictures of Sunday night, but it was a memorable evening. We held a little fireside at 7pm after the kids were in bed. Josie spoke and shared her story. Later that night, most of us ended up in the front room of our house, visiting. Aaron Hale (the dad with 8 kids) had his phone out reading something when he announced, "Well, I just got permission to hold sacrament meeting." I said he had emailed the mission president earlier, but because of the problems with wifi, had only just gotten his response. Becky immediately piped up, "Well, let's do it!!" I think everyone hesitated because it was 11pm. Most of us were in pajamas. Where would we do it? I don't think I'd ever participated in a sacrament meeting outside of normal church. But her enthusiasm wouldn't be deterred. So the men went and changed into their white shirts... us girls changed back into our dresses and we met in the kitchen/main house where we had church that morning. We set up chairs and a little table and they filled the kids' plastic mugs with a little water. Wanting to be helpful, I went into the kitchen to help Brighton assemble the cups on platters. He paused, then bluntly told me, "Uhhh, Steph. You can't help." I was a little taken aback and actually confused for a minute until I processed what we were doing. It was just so out of place and different than the normal routine that it didn't even occur to me that it would be inappropriate to help. Humpf! So I sad down and allowed myself to be served. ;) They found a white, fitted bed sheet to use as the cloth over the sacrament and tortillas that a volunteer brought in her suitcase, instead of bread. Aaron, being the bishop in his own ward, conducted the meeting. He didn't say much, but he did share a story I want to remember. He spoke of his Grandma Hale. (I know her because she was close friends with MY grandparents and they raised their families across the street from each other, living there 50 years.) She had four daughters close together when her husband passed away. She was called to be the ward organist and had to leave her four little girls by themselves on the front pew of the chapel while she played. As incentive for being good, she would promise them an ice cream cone from Dairy Queen after church. It was not unusual back then to eat out on Sunday. Then the prophet, Spencer W. Kimball, came out to emphasize keeping the Sabbath day holy. He challenged the members to stop old traditions and habits such as eating out or spending money on the Sabbath. Wanting to do what was right, "Grandma Hale" stopped taking the girls to DQ and bought a homemade ice cream maker instead. Ever since, it was a fond tradition in their family to have homemade ice cream together on Sunday evenings. This continued for 40 years until her passing. I had always heard from Josie about her favorite memories of being at her Grandma's house on Sunday nights and having homemade ice cream with her cousins, but I had never heard the beginning of the story before. I LOVED it. Such a simple act of obedience that turned into a beautiful example and treasured family tradition. Aaron went on to emotionally share his own testimony of keeping the Sabbath day holy and his gratitude for being able to partake of the sacrament even in a remote village in Africa. The boys carried the make-shift trays around as we took our cups, only just barely filled, but still requiring several swallows to get down. Several of us realized that with the time difference, even at 11:30pm, we were actually partaking of the sacrament at the same time we would have been if we were back home. The thought made me smile. I felt the Spirit in that unique meeting. What a blessing the priesthood and restored gospel are. 

One morning, I signed up to help work on the schoolhouse. We rode the same bull cart out to the location. This time we got a little adventure when they suddenly started running! We all screamed and grabbed onto each other, laughing and trying not to fall off! The men guiding the bulls quickly got them under control. 

Just a big, brick building in the middle of nowhere!

We thought we would be painting, but they needed the walls sanded down first. The dust!! My headband came in quite handy!

There was a separate little bathroom house that we helped paint as well.

With not enough ladders, we had to improvise. Long legs came in handy!

Drum roll please.... here is the soccer field!! 

Oy-flippin-VEY.

I couldn't believe how large of an area they wanted cleared. I swear it was Olympic sized. Completely covered in thick brush, big thorny trees and spidery undergrowth. We hacked and hacked and hacked away at it. Slowly clearing the smallest area, but dragging away mounds of shrubs. It was back breaking labor. Every time I released my spade to stretch, I would have frozen claw hands, haha. Think Chandler on FRIENDS after he spent a day trying to win on that video game. We all kept murmuring that we would love to just set fire to the thing. ;) I worked several different times on this throughout the week. By the end, we had done a lot but still had plenty to go. The volunteers with deep pockets finally got together and agreed to donate the money to pay for tractors to come in and clear the land. Would have been cool if they had offered that at the beginning, haha. But then where is the fun in not having blisters?! ;) 

Someone donated lots of toothbrushes, toothpaste and those tablet thingies that color plaque so you know where to brush! Ryan did a little hygiene lesson with them and we helped them brush and check to see if they got all the colored spots. Right up my alley. ;)

The toddlers got a snack of "ugali" once in the morning and once in the afternoon after their naps. We were always welcome to come help make and distribute it. It looks like mush and tastes worse, but just like the cake incident, there are no complaints. They take their mug happily and drink it down.

I helped once during their dinner time as well and it was a similar story. They have very plain dinners, yet eagerly look forward to their rice and gravy. This one night, I was helping set up the tables and pass out the plates when a little guy hugged my leg. I bent down to give him a squeeze back when I saw another child notice. He immediately walked over with arms outstretched to get his own hug. Then it was like a domino effect. It was like every child suddenly noticed that I was giving out hugs and started clustering around me and lining up for their own turn. They didn't cry or push, just quietly walked over, waiting for some love. You guys.. my heart. It was the most tender moment. I wanted to snuggle them all night long. I just imagined if one of them was my Weston... aka Mr. Snuggle Bug.... and he didn't get regular affection. That would be so heartbreaking! Now help me figure out how I can give out constant hugs to all the lonely children in the world please!!!

The babies were a hot commodity, but I managed to get my time in too!

Here's a line up of the three youngest! 

Little Amos here has alcohol fetal syndrome. He was Kianna's favorite, so if you wanted any time with him you had to beg for her to give him up! 

And this sweet baby was JUST brought to the orphanage days before we arrived. She had been found flushed down a toilet. Literally. Someone went into a bathroom and heard crying and couldn't figure out where it was coming from. They had to break the toilet to reach her and maggots were crawling all over. 

Can.you.even.imagine????

I posted briefly about her on Instagram while I was there and was impressed by a couple of comments that were written. Friends who were saddened by the heinous act of getting rid of  a baby this way but still thought about what kind of situation that mother must have been in. It seems incomprehensible to do such a thing. And I know no one was justifying it, but you have to wonder how desperate her circumstances must have been. I had not considered it from that angle before. The situation is just completely tragic all around. My empathy goes out to this precious babe, but also her mother. 

This is definitely out of order but the day after we got there I had the chance to teach a class to the older group of kids. Normally, they would have been at school but there was some sort of holiday and they had the day off. I had been told by friends who had done humanitarian service in other countries, that bringing a Polaroid camera is a big hit. So instead of teaching a math or English lesson I decided to go a slightly different route and talk about their individual worth. (Thank you, YW's values.) 

I started off by talking a little bit about myself. I told them how I love to read, dance and bake and got my degree in education. I told them about my family and children and how much I loved being a mother. I brought a few objects to illustrate my points. They just soaked it all up with big eyes. They craned their necks when I showed a picture of my husband. (Well, with the exception of two "cool kids", haha) Then I asked them to tell about themselves! I asked about their goals, interests and what they wanted to be when they grew up. Several said a doctor or banker or mother. But even as they said it, I could tell it was with a touch of fantasy that they named these professions. I asked them if they had ever thought about traveling. It was interesting to me that they nodded eagerly but when I asked where they would go, most of them said Arusha... just a couple hours away. One said South Africa and only one said America. It was like their minds just couldn't comprehend going any farther than their immediate area. I told them that all of those lives, places and goals were attainable. I tried to inspire in them a belief in themselves. I told them how valuable they were! That they were smart, capable and talented. That God loved each of them individually. That no matter what they chose to do, they could do it! They were important and needed. I pulled out my camera and asked if they had ever had a picture of themselves. At this, even the cool kids perked up. They shook their heads, no. I explained that it was a special camera that could take their picture and print out a copy right away. I brought "All About Me" papers for them to fill out and color and put their picture on to keep. It was sooooo fun to see their enthusiasm. They smiled so sweetly and sometimes shyly for me, then audibly held their breath as the photo printed and their image slowly appeared. Their anticipation was palpable. It was like they had just witnessed a miracle and couldn't wait to grab it and run to show their friends. It was a simple activity that any American child would take in stride, but these kids feverishly worked on their papers. They had their heads bent down, coloring and examining each other's work. When they were finished, they came to proudly show me their finished products.Talk about a pay-day moment. I had hit gold. I wasn't trying to fill their heads with empty encouragement. I believed everything I said. It didn't matter that they were born in a poor village in Africa to parents that either didn't want them or couldn't take care of them. They MATTERED. They were of infinite worth. No matter where we live, what we do or how we look, we are of inherent worth to our Heavenly Father. These are concepts I always knew before, but it was in this moment that I truly felt the TRUTH of it. 

Later on in the week, I got to teach a group of younger kids some English words and practice using a BINGO game I had brought. They were smart little cookies! I was surprised at how fast some of them caught on. Their English was much more basic than the other group, so one of the mama's helped translate some. I still had some film left on my camera, so I also took their pictures for them. Oh boy, were they thrilled!!! Completely giddy and jumping around when I handed them their picture. Even the mama asked if I could take hers.

These smiling faces!!!!! :) :) :) 

This is happiness!!!

After our "Noma Chama" (dance party) Sunday night, these girls kept asking if we could do it again. I was more than happy to oblige. Belinda, Rachel and Neema... my dancing soul sistas!

Here's another sweet moment for you...

These guys pulled me in to read books to them. While I was reading, the littlest one got a special snack (some fruit) from a mama in the kitchen. It surprised me, because I'd never seen the kids get extra food outside of meal times. I just figured it was a special circumstance or he was on a different diet or something. Barakas had a sucker because it was the last day and they allowed a volunteer who had brought candy to pass out one piece per child (they normally don't allow sweets to protect their teeth). When he was done with his sucker he held his hand out toward the boy with the fruit. Immediately, the little guy handed him a piece. He didn't pull away or try to protect his coveted snack. Without hesitation and completely selflessly, he shared his whole bowl until it was gone. It was such a small thing that I didn't draw attention to, but I sure noticed. This lack of "mine" was an amazing phenomenon that accompanied every child there. It was like they all stuck together and innately helped each other out. Once on the playground I saw a little boy named Caleb with a runny nose. An older girl ran past him and noticed so she stopped what she was doing, ran into a house and came out with toilet paper to wipe his nose. No one asked her to. She wasn't in charge of him. But she saw a need and filled it. Sweet Barakas, who's legs didn't work, spent all his play time sitting on the merry go round. But I watched as at regular intervals, other children would come up and give him a push around. Or bring him a toy car to play with. Or just go talk to him. He wasn't left out or ignored. The mamas seemed to either be doing chores or holding babies, so all the other kids banded together. Part of me wanted to cry for them not having a parent to give individual love to them, but a good part of me was amazed at the selflessness and charity  it taught them. And you know what? These kids were happy. They really were. I don't have all the answers and could only guess at the reasons. Of course I think that having a family and parents would be better, but I really think they considered themselves lucky. I think they were grateful for what they had. Perhaps some of them remembered the life they used to have and truly appreciated the luxuries they enjoyed now. Even if those luxuries just meant a bed, food and clothing. One conversation I had with a mama named Lydia, supported this. I was doing dishes with them at the end of the day and Lydia knew English well enough to have a conversation. She asked me where I was from. When I told her, she said that people from America are very nice.... they come to help them. (Something comforting to hear... I kind of wondered if deep down they viewed us as just rich Americans who pitied them and self righteously came to help. It was really sweet to hear her express deep appreciation for us.) She asked if I had seen the Maasai tribe on our safari. I said we had. She looked proud for a moment and said, "I am Maasai". But then her face clouded with concern and she explained that she had also visited their village and couldn't believe how they lived. "It is sad," she expressed. Then she spoke of her appreciation for her house and life here. She certainly recognized how her life could have ended up, and was thankful for her job at the orphanage.At the end of one day I wrote in my journal, "Today I learned that these people are humble, grateful and happy with what they have. They take care of each other." I would now add on that serving and being selfless are the best ways to feel happiness. 

A few experiences that don't have pictures...

-One afternoon when the older kids were at school and the younger kids were napping, I peeked into the kitchen and saw they were sorting beans. So I asked if I could help. They pulled up a chair, handed me an extra, woven basket and showed me how they were picking out the debris and unformed beans. The whole process felt SO dated. I pictured myself in the south in the 1800's on a wide, front porch doing the exact same thing. There were two other women and a man named Jackson. They spoke to each other in Swahili and I'd try to ask occasional questions. Their English was limited. When I asked Mary what brought her joy she said singing gospel music. At one point the girls started giggling and stole glances at me. Then shyly said, motioning at Jackson, "He said he loves you." More giggling. I laughed and held up my wedding ring and said to him, "Sorry, I'm taken!" Oh, the peals of laughter. He turned bright red and the girls about fell on the floor. I thought it was pretty funny.

-Here's another embarrassing moment. On the first night at the orphanage I was so exhausted, but afraid I'd have a hard night sleeping because the pads were so uncomfortable. So I took a few Advil PM's and had my only night of solid sleep. Unfortunately, I also had one of my terrifying nightmares that make me wake up screaming. I woke up, literally screaming at the top of my lungs, completely disoriented and scared out of my mind. Slowly the light and my surroundings came into crystal clear focus. It was morning and everyone was already up, in their beds, visiting. I had at least 7 pairs of eyes and very concerned faces staring silently at me. As I realized what I had just done and how RIDICULOUS I must look (remember, it's the first day there and we barely know each other) I covered my face and fell back on my pillow wanting to die! Ughhhhhh!!!! SO embarrassing!!! I must have looked like the biggest freak show! I quickly tried to explain these infrequent nightmare episodes and beg for their understanding. Of course, everyone was so nice about it. Probably just grateful I wasn't a true schizophrenic. Why do I ever leave my house?!

-Super random note. While it is very common for African bathrooms to just have a hole in the ground, they are ALWAYS accompanied by a bedet! And every bathroom I was in was also it's own room. Not a stall, like American public bathrooms. This was puzzling. On the one hand, a hole in the ground is so gross. But on the other, they seemed cleaner than we are because of the bedet option. Plus, more private! Getting your own room instead of a stall with open slits all around was quite nice. What to make of this bathroom conundrum! ;)

Another experience that I don't have a picture of is the morning I spent helping with the laundry. I believe it was Saturday morning. Laundry is a BIG process. And the children are expected to help. They haul out all the clothes from the week and take them outside to the back of the houses where there is a water spigot and clothes lines. They fill huge tubs with water and add the clothes, bending over them and rubbing this rough bar of soap across each piece. Then they do this harsh, swishing motion between their hands and up a wrist, scrubbing it for a while before dumping it in a pile in the next tub of water. That's the rinse tub. Each piece of clothing goes through the same scrubbing motion in the plain water before wringing it out by hand and dumping it in the last pile. That's when it's ready to hang. When I walked up and offered to help I swear they looked at me confused. Like, why would anyone offer to do laundry?? I tried bending over the tub at first and after maybe 10 minutes my back was aching something fierce. I grabbed a bucket to sit on, but watched in wonder as these kids and mamas never sat down once. We scrubbed and scrubbed and I quickly watched my hands turn red and the skin where I was scrubbing start to scrape away. This particular group didn't seem to know much English but at one point, a mama noticed my hands and grabbed them to look closer. Her jaw seemed to go slack and she held them up to me and pointed where it was brightest red, like "Do you see this?! Are you OK?" I just shrugged my shoulders and  laughed uncomfortably and pointed to her hands asking if they felt OK. She held them up and they looked as tough as leather. She raised her eyebrows and seemed to shrug her own shoulders like, "Yep, they're used to this". Once again, I couldn't believe the grit these people had. They could work so hard and not seem bothered at all. I was also impressed by the kids doing their fair share. They even scrubbed their shoes! Hand scrubbing and wringing out thick jackets, sheets, towels and jeans was not easy. Even though it was July, it was their winter, so there were lots of jackets and sweaters to clean. I remember thinking I would never take my washing machine for granted again! I had sores on my wrist and hands for the rest of the week.

While we were bent over washing, I looked up to see the girl across from me looking intently at my face. I had no idea why. Then very slowly, as her eyes squinted, narrowing in on their target, she gently pulled a piece of hair out of my mouth that the wind had placed there. As she tucked it away behind my ear, and returned to her spot, her eyes still never left that piece of hair. Like she needed to make sure it didn't come back out and intrude my face again. It was a simple yet sweet gesture. As if she were taking care of me. I could see her mind churning, perhaps amused that hair could do such a thing as fly out of place and plant itself in ones mouth. It made me consider how different we must appear to them. How straight, long hair could be an anomaly worth studying. I wondered if she liked her own hair and suddenly felt grateful for something I was used to complaining about. 

As were finishing up, a girl named Raziki came over and she knew a little more English. I asked her what her favorite day of the week was. Without hesitating, she smiled and replied, "Sunday!" Puzzled, I asked her why. Her smile deepened and with joy she explained, "Because that's when we get to praise God and worship God." I was stunned. Who responds that way?! Especially a 9 year old?! It caused some self contemplation. Even myself, who likes to go to church, would probably have responded that I like to go to feel the Spirit. That I know I need the sacrament each week. That I enjoy being with other members and feeling inspired by their examples and talks. That I look forward to Relief Society lessons and the boost it gives me to keep going each week. Now, all of these reasons felt selfish. Would I have EVER thought to answer that I love to go because I love to worship God? I was inspired and a bit ashamed of myself. Out of the mouths of babes....